


One and Nineteen More

by californication



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/F, F/M, I AM SORRY, I'm, I'm Sorry, i really mean it when i say don't expect much, i'm sorry (freeform), like honestly don't expect much, sorry - Freeform, this is for my Malora bae, western!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 11:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/californication/pseuds/californication
Summary: Malora set in the old west, but it's more like "the prequel to an unfinished, abandoned Malora fic set in the old west." U:





	One and Nineteen More

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry it took me twenty years to write this. i'm sorry it still sucks. i'm sorry it doesn't have the 394857397520958 million things we talked about and all the extra lines i took out especially the eerie christianity shit that was super cool and i took it out anyway and it's super watered down. i'm sorry. but i love you and i hope you at least kinda sorta like how this turned out. it only took how long to finish?
> 
> If this is anything like any other Malora fic out there, I'm sorry in advance. I didn't read anything to keep it "pure" but at my friend's insistence I did play a lot of western inspired games to keep the spirit alive. Since there's a full year gap between when this was started and when it ended, there might be some continuity errors (especially since a lot was taken out just so I could get this thing finished.) Originally this was written just to have a lot of sexual endeavors take place until it all got cut out save for dat ending scene. If hetero sex is your "trigger" leave now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this flaming garbage pile I call my writing.

Prelude

  
Towards the end of the year 1869, Salms, a small farm-based community in rural California, was rediscovered. As if a veil had been lifted, it reappeared magnificently untouched by time and the world's technological progress. October 18th marked the day that a trader by the name McDonough knowingly arrived, though he had no clue how he had come to be there or why he was. He had simply accepted his presence as a fact and continued through the town to barter his goods at the Salms' General Store. When later interviewed by the county authorities on why he had become so distressed when the store was found locked up and empty, he had argued that it had been open only two weeks before. When pressed for more information, however, he found himself struck with amnesia.  
  
_I knew jus'a momen' ago. I's the damndest thing.  
_  
With that statement, there began an unravelling of realisations. Like a mummy beneath its tapestry, Salms' ugly vessel was exposed. The gauze that had covered it so cleverly with the outward facade of range living was stripped away and a survey was performed, gauging when those within the county lines and those just outside of it had last been in contact. It was estimated that during the humid summer of 1854 that the settlement seemed to vanish from memory. People who had once regularly travelled there had forgotten its existence. Likewise, the residents became passive and reserved, no longer concerned with what happened beyond the city limit and unwilling to pass it.  
  
_There's Miss'er an' Missus Shaw by the corn f'elds, there's them women out by the woodlens an' there's..._  
_'old a mo' I got it. I's Diaval! Aye, tha's 'is name, Diaval. Knows e'eryone an' their business, tha'un._  
  
Business and property records were thoroughly reviewed but it was confirmed that the trading post belonged to a widower named Trovulski who had moved South two decades past. No one by the name of Diaval had ever owned the store and while many residents had the recollection of interacting with a man by that name, none could recall when he had arrived in town or departed. McDonough was later questioned again regarding his time in Salms. Many statements made seemed illogical though he claimed they were facts.  
  
_Men I've known me 'ole life an' I can' even remember who they are. Can' remember where we met or where they came from. Can' remember nothin'. Nothin' e'cept Salms._  
  
He recalled seeing other traders from time to time, but he could not remember their names. He knew of three spinster sisters who lived in a large house on a (later confirmed) barren plot of land, and he remembered a young girl who had positively swindled him out of the most expensive mirror he had ever bartered for.  
  
_It were a terrible shame. Were the best damn mirror 've ever 'ad the pleasure o' sellin'. Though the sellin' were twice more in'erestin'._  
  
He had left it with her for one sixteenth of its worth and some baked goods that she had made herself. She had said it was her fifteenth birthday that day and she was rather pleased to have such a fine present for herself. He had been tickled by her manner. Had he ever children, he had decided he would name them after her, hoping they would be as cunning and ambitious as the young woman.  
The doctor that assessed the case and had also made a round of personal interviews with the citizens of Salms, had called the incident a medical marvel. He had named the disease Salms Sickness. The results of a localised airborne bacterium that could cause extensive loss of short-term memory. Residents would go about their daily tasks and remain subconsciously aware of their actions on a day to day basis, but they would find themselves unable to recall any of their recent endeavours if pressed. A test was conducted to draw a comparison to illnesses like yellow fever and hay fever but during his time of study, he tragically died in his sleep. With the passing of the good doctor, the Salms Case was forgotten.  
  
His research was only seen three times after his death. Once by his apprentice, who rediscovered the works and submitted them to the college to be studied by minds more brilliant than his own; and twice by the two young neurosurgeons that declared his work nothing but the ramblings of a doddering old man. The sheets of paper had been nearly illegible, for the years had worn away the ink. All that had remained for the ignorant two to read had been the interview that was taken down, between Himself and McDonough. The document ended with a single word that seemed underlined for emphasis and it was the last legible word on the paper before it was completely destroyed.  
  
_Wha' 'add'er name been?_  
  
_Oh, I know._  
  
_It were..._

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter One

 

“Aurora!"  
  
The blonde girl turned, her outstretched hand dropping to her side as she stepped away from the door as the voice called out to her.  
  
"Don’t you go outside now, you hear?”  
  
“I only wanted to go pick flowers.”  
  
The woman sitting near the fire nodded in acknowledgement, fishing her needle through the cloth as she worked her embroidery on to what was shaping up to be the youth’s birthday present. From behind her, another woman stepped forward, stoking the fire at her feet before waddling into the kitchen area and setting the table. As she placed down the chipped plates Aurora eyed the floor where she stood, taking in the torn hems of her pink frock and fidgeted as she thought of how long it had been since they had any proper mending done to their clothes.  
  
The woman noticed, glancing up and making a shooing motion, “Aurora, you heed your Aunties. It’s gettin’ dark and the coyotes will be out shortly. Go wash your face for dinner, you can pick flowers in the morning.”  
Aurora made a whine of disappointment, letting her hands become lost at her sides in the folds of her dress and hanging her head in visible sorrow. When her actions gained no sympathy from either woman, the girl sighed.  
  
“Yes, Auntie Flora.”  
  
Flora hummed in response, moving back to the old stove to retrieve their simmering meal and the woman still seated at the fireplace struggled to stand, calling for one of her sisters to help.  
  
“Merryweather, you know that chair sits too low,” Flora shouted from the kitchen, a small smirk on her lips.  
  
“Don’t I? I think you made it sit low so I can’t enjoy it no more. Aurora, help your poor Auntie.”  
  
Aurora made her exit then, too annoyed with Merryweather’s apathy to offer assistance. It wasn’t right, in Aurora’s opinion, to smother her so. She was almost sixteen and it was about time she was free to come and go as she pleased like a proper adult. The three spinster woman were content to live cooped up in their large house on the prairie, but Aurora anguished at the thought of seeing the end of her days just so.  
  
The young woman hungered for adventure, for mystery and intrigue. When she lay awake at night it was not fear of the dark and what lurked in it, but rather of living to see the age of her aunties and never tasting the salt of the ocean she read about in her books. She would clutch at her rough bed sheets, tears peeking at the corners of her eyes as she imagined she would never ride out to the edge of the plain and see the mountains that lay on the unchanging horizon. When she heard the prairie dogs yipping in the distance and owls screeching at night, she often thought of how she might offer herself to an Indian, should one come around, just to leave that wretched place and never return. She'd heard the stories often enough, Native Americans stealing young women away into the night. The thought quickly quelled itself, she knew the truth, after all. The articles written in the papers and sent from the North-Eastern cities were all slander and misconceptions of people and places that city-dwellers could never understand.

"Home grown ignorance," Fauna called it.   
  
Turning her mind back to fantasy, she thought of the hard nights, where she dreamt of being snatched through her window by some mythical beast and dragged off into the woods. She would wake up, gasping and shaking, but the disappointment that followed her waking moments far outweighed any fear she had of what such a creature would do to her.  
  
Naturally, such troubling thoughts would find ways to surface.  
  
If Merryweather caught her standing on the porch staring at nothing she would be shooed away or handed a broom and Flora would force her to knead dough until her wrists ached. Fauna, at least, would take her to tend the garden. It was a far easier chore than sweeping the house and beating the dirt from each rug or making enough dough to last a month. Regardless, her treatment only fostered resentment towards the older women. They surely meant well but, with such suffocation, Aurora was prone to cling to each passing traveller and their rare visitors. She could hardly stand to be so alone when surrounded by three people who claimed they were there to listen and would find every opportunity to quiet her wild spirit by ignoring her questions.  
  
“What’s it like to stand under them grand trees up in the mountains?” Aurora, for example, would ask.  
  
“Hush, child. Your Auntie doesn’t have time to tell stories,” the women would respond, or “You'll find out one day yourself. Now, have you finished your chores?"  
  
Her only friends and outside contacts were the Wiyot Boys and the curious shopkeeper of Salms’ General, Diaval. Of the Wiyot Boys, only one of their members was particularly memorable to Aurora. Most of them had no grasp of English, but Phillip, a young man only a few years older than Aurora, had nearly mastered the language. He worked hard to set himself apart by learning the foreign dialect and he often loitered around the edges of towns, listening to conversations so he could better his own speaking.  
Among his home, Phillip seemed to be important, though he never conveyed it to Aurora; she supposed it had something to do with being the only Wiyot who could speak in two languages. The girl believed he was impressive too, he could almost hold a conversation with her fluently and despite her own shortcomings, she tried to learn some of his language also. Beyond this, Aurora held no interest in spending her time with Phillip. He, in Diaval’s words, “had eyes for her” since they first met. The very thought was bold (and, though she could not quite pin down why, it disturbed her.)  
  
“Phillip’s a good friend,” she once told Diaval.  
  
“Aye, and friends often become more when it’s between the sexes.”  
  
Aurora had blushed furiously, pushing the produce across the counter without making eye contact and taking her payment while his laugh echoed through the empty store. On her ride back home, his words rang in her mind, enforced only when she noticed just how attentive Phillip truly was. From that day on, his efforts to gain her affection did not go unnoticed by Aurora, though it seemed they had never escaped her Aunties.  
  
Flora considered Phillip to be a charming young man, often asking Aurora to invite him for supper or to accompany Aurora’s ride into Salms, the nearest settlement by eight miles, as an escort. Merryweather said they were a good match too but Aunt Fauna disapproved in her own meek way. She would fuss about the garden as she tended to the vegetable patches and if Aurora asked her about Phillip, the woman would give her a tight smile and shake her head without response.  
  
From what she overheard between her aunties, Fauna didn’t find his strutting impressive and had many reservations about letting young Aurora travel with him otherwise unattended. Still, she kept her opinions to herself and the girl often wondered if her other guardians bullied Fauna to silence on the matter like they so often did on others.  
  
Regardless, it made no difference to Aurora when Phillip was even more conservative than Flora at times. He was no match for her wild desires, he too dreamed of settling in Salms' plains and the very thought depressed her.  
Pulling her mind to the present, the girl found herself staring into a cracked mirror as she cleaned her hands and face in the wash basin in her room. It was a rare luxury, a mirror, but Aurora had managed to wheedle a traveller into trading for it, though she was on the receiving end of the switch later that same evening. Merryweather had praised Aurora’s cunning though neither of her sisters felt the same. Looking into the mirror then, she felt inadequate. Her face too plain and her hair dull. There was nothing interesting to her: except perhaps her solitary nature. A girl her age would be looking for a husband or already married.  
  
She shuddered as her hands framed her face, pushing and pulling skin in the reflection, trying to find something nice to look at. A normal girl wouldn’t dare learn to read, or sass her Aunties, or stare too long at Salms’ saloon and brothel – particularly Susanna Termeck, the loveliest woman she’d ever laid eyes on – trying to catch a peak at the whores that lounged about the inside the bar in their underthings.  
  
“But I’m not,” she mumbled to herself, glaring into the mirror at her own reflection, “I don’t know why I’m not.”  
  
Susanna was really gorgeous with her honey-brown locks that naturally curled after she bathed, and those big, brown eyes. Her lips were full, thick, and a drunken man had muttered that she had lips only the devil could truly appreciate as they were so sinful. Aurora had tried to pretend she hadn’t heard such a thing but the words followed her into restless sleep and tainted her dreams. Every time she caught herself looking at Susanna when she was in town, she was reminded of how easily she could purchase a room, discreetly inviting the girl up, and she could – could what? Appraise her in her undergarments?  
  
Kissing, hands roving over exposed flesh, a hand between her thighs and a mouth over her breast.  
  
A soft knock on her door made the girl flinch, her hands brushed violently against the porcelain washing bowl on the wooden stand before her, and her entire body lurched with it to catch the dainty dish before it shattered against the floor. She hadn’t realised she had moved a hand between her legs until she was interrupted. Another soft knock and concerned, “Aurora?” and the girl found herself biting out a response that she’d be down in a moment while she quickly washed her shaking hands.  
It wasn’t fair to be rude to Fauna, but Aurora was low on tolerance since her nightmares had become more frequent. Righting herself, she removed the small white apron that was tied to her dress, and straightened her hosiery and skirts before making her way downstairs. She resolved to apologise through prayer later that evening and when she was seated, the three women, who were having a heated discussion, quickly fell silent when Flora gave their charge a stiff nod.  
  
“Say grace, my dear?”  
  
It was not a question and Aurora knew not to take it as such. She brought her hands up above the table and clasped them together, waiting a moment before she began to speak. Not really thinking on what she was saying, but rather relying on a sort of muscle memory that she had created for instances such as that, she felt the very atmosphere in the room shift, becoming as stale as her words.  
  
“Dear Lord, we humbly thank you for this meal you have delivered to us. We give thanks for the plentiful crops you have provided for this year's harvest and the good health of the livestock.”  
  
Aurora paused and her mind momentarily wandered as she thought of how the garden had been taking a particularly heavy beating over the last month by both weather and wildlife. She almost asked Fauna if any of the vegetables had been recovered for the meal they were about to eat, but Flora audibly cleared her throat and the girl instead finished the prayer.  
  
“We ask that you bless this meal as you have our family, in your name we pray, amen.”  
  
Flora, who had been giving her a hard look from across the table, smiled so tightly her mouth turned into a grimace and all three women harmonized an “amen.”  
  
“’Rora, darlin’, is something bothering you?” Fauna asked kindly, her brows furrowed in deep concern.  
  
“No Auntie, I’m fine.”  
  
The woman looked towards the crock of meat and bread at the centre of the table like it would give her insight on why Aurora was acting strangely, but instead she only came away with a piece of the loaf she added to her plate. Merryweather watched the exchange with mild amusement and elbowed her sister in the side in a gentle, friendly manner. Flora was frowning once more but no longer at Aurora, much to the girl’s satisfaction.  
  
Meals had not always been such a stiff affair. When she was younger, the three women would chatter all evening with her, keeping her entertained and involved well after supper was over. She knew that the anger and detachment she had begun to feel in recent years was one-sided and the women did not feel similarly. In fact she doubted they were even aware of it. The feeling of resentment was there, however, and she had begun pulling away, becoming even more standoffish since her questions began to go unanswered. Perhaps the largest stake that had driven her from seeking them out was that of her relation to them.  
  
No one in the small family looked alike. Flora was of Eastern descent, with her pale skin and almond shaped eyes; she was made elegant with an unnatural height and her perfect posture. Perhaps most intimidating was her Southern drawl, which was cultured and gave an impression of wealth and class that no one else in the family reflected.  
  
Merryweather was of Southern origin, with tanned skin and dark hair. Her accent was Southern too, though not in any way refined. The woman was large and curvaceous but short. She was an inch shorter than Aurora and in some ways, when Merryweather used her iron will on the teen, that inch was the only thing giving the girl strength to stay standing.  
  
Lastly there was Fauna, an offspring of the Native Americans and European immigrants, or so Aurora guessed. The woman had dark skin, but it was much lighter than most Indian folk, and her features were less pronounced. She had the bone structure of white settlers, Aurora thought, and she found it quite curious.  
  
Early on, Aurora found that these acknowledgements would get her nothing but a switch on her backside if discussed. And though she loved her Aunties and knew they raised her in kindness and joy, a hollow feeling of betrayal haunted her. She wondered if she had really been taken in, or if, perhaps abandoned like in the stories from the paper. When she was younger it hadn’t mattered, but since learning to read she had begun to question everything. She wanted to learn, she wanted to be knowledgeable, but her Aunties kept her buried in the dark. They did not talk about themselves, or her parents, and they never spoke of the future. Things merely were. To them it was a fine existence, but to Aurora she lived in a state of monotony and constant disillusionment.  
  
“’Rora, you’re not eating,” Fauna’s voice cut through her thoughts again.  
  
Taking a bite automatically from whatever was on her fork, she suppressed a scowl and shovelled another mouthful of soggy bread and roast in her mouth. She didn’t much care for the bread but the meat was good.  
  
She continued to eat automatically, as if she were some sort of machine, like the ones the traveller from New York told her of. He said machines would revolutionize the future and he had gone as far as talking about all their uses: From building cars to boats to flying vehicles. Not that she imagined such a thing existed. It was all fanfare, like Auntie Merryweather had huffed before excusing herself from the table in an aggravated sulk. She hated talking about such things and when the man departed to continue west, Merryweather said as much during breakfast.  
  
“Filling heads with nonsense, that boy is a piece of coal as much of any diamond I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Aurora wanted to ask her if she had ever seen a diamond, but the words came across snide even in her own mind and she had quieted the urge.  
  
Merryweather’s cutlery audibly clicked against the plate and Flora gave the woman a cross look which she returned, Aurora wanted to go to bed. A feeling of homesickness suddenly consumed her, which she found amusing as she had never left the large house even for a single night to stay elsewhere. How can one be homesick if they are home? She mused, and suddenly the thought was less humorous as she realised that she hadn’t felt “at home” in months. A nagging feeling of loss overwhelmed her and she felt queasy. If home no longer felt like home, then what was it?  
  
“May I be excused?”  
  
Fauna smiled at her placidly and nodded but Flora gave her an angry frown and shook her head, “No. Finish your meal and you may leave.”  
  
“Please, Auntie, I don’t feel well.”  
  
The three women looked between each other with a sudden panic, “What’s not feeling well?” Merryweather barked.  
  
“When did you start feeling ill?” Fauna chimed in.  
  
Startled by their attentiveness, Aurora blushed, “My stomach. Just a little earlier. I didn’t eat nothin’, it just started rumbling and now it hurts.”  
  
Flora’s lips twitched, though she doubted it had to do with her words rather than their meaning. After a moment she finally consented and the girl rose from her seat swiftly but moved slowly away from the dining room towards and up the stairs. She didn’t want to make it apparent that she was desperate to leave their company and with Flora’s eyes on her back as she ascended, she had a feeling that that was still the case.  
  
When Aurora did enter her room, she lay on her bed quickly, shuffling under the covers and hiding her face in her pillow. She didn’t bother removing her dress, instead letting a few pitiful tears fall as she forced herself to relax. She had been a rollercoaster of emotion for the last week and every day felt more strained than the last. The girl wasn’t sure why she couldn’t control the war that was waging in her mind, but she was tired.  
  
Though sleep did not come easy, she felt herself drifting towards a sea of darkness as her mind roved over where the last fifteen years had gone. She couldn't recall a time when she had ever felt quite so lonely or adverse to company. She could argue that it was only particular company that irked her, but the need to be alone was overwhelming. The silence in her drafty bedroom was as deafening as that that suspended her in her daily life. She felt like she was stuck, waiting for something to happen or change that had yet to occur. How long had she simply been without any change? Had her long golden locks ever been cut? Had she ever tried the face paint peddlers tried to sell to her aged Aunties? Was there ever a time when exotic spices had touched her lips?  
  
She thought not.  
  
It was then that her thoughts became distorted and strange. She thought herself small, standing in a salt shaker filling up around her endlessly. She struggled to climb against the glass walls of her prison as the frosty-white shards began to drown her and when she thought she was going to drown at last, the bottle tilted. A loud smashing sound surrounded her and overwhelmed her tried senses, but when she opened her eyes, she was still in the salt shaker and the vial was suddenly quite dark. She took in her surroundings, noting that the salt itself was missing, and that the cap was gone so she could effectively escape if she wanted to. The thought of rushing to freedom scared her, however, and she tentatively approached the maw of the glass container.  
A feeling of unease consumed her and she heard the beating of wings in the distance. Suddenly a voice was in her ear, soft and feminine. She was afraid to turn around and she didn't dare ask for it to repeat itself. Aurora boldly marched onward, unsure of what she was going to face. The static of sound that was indecipherable rose around her. She heard hundreds of voices, the flapping wings of a hundred birds, and the sound of a window shuddering in its frame. The darkened opening of her freedom was even more ominous as she stood on the lip of the unknown, looking past her skirts into a darkened chasm. Just as she thought she might take a step forward, she became acutely aware of the silence that had come about. She heard nothing save for her own breathing and the erratic thump of her heart. Unable to control herself, she began to hyperventilate.  
  
She felt herself leaning forward to jump, but her feet felt glued to the floor. Then a sharp movement caught her attention. Glancing up she was surprised and terrified to see the beak of a large black bird coming towards her, a screech that only came from a bird in pain forced her closed eyes open and she bucked up in her bed. Looking towards her window she saw a raven and crow fighting, wings beating against the rattling pane. As she approached to shoo them off, the raven took flight and flew quickly towards the small forest in the distance. The crow glanced at her, cocked its head, then settled underneath the eve of the roof to clean its wounds.  
Aurora, despite not knowing why, began to cry.

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter Two

 

Phillip, having already started the day with a brief grunt as a greeting, was equally talkative as they rode into town. For once, Aurora was grateful. She loved speaking to all of the Wiyot people but since learning of Phillip's over-appreciation for her, she had felt a chasm opening between the two youths. Trying to be friendly at least, she asked in his native tongue how the tribe was. He merely shrugged, instead answering in English that he would come around and perhaps ride back with her to the ranch. She nodded and gave her farewell before riding off towards the opposite end of town. Aurora, not bothering to dwell on Phillip's aloof behaviour, tied the reins of her stead to the post in front of Salms' General Store. The store in question was a bleak looking shop, more run-down than any on the block, but it had been there since the town was established and its newest owner was a young entrepreneur who was as quick witted with a jest as he was with his investments. Aurora has struck up an easy friendship with Diaval and had often opted to hear his take on matters before making large decisions.  
  
Entering the shop, Aurora was unsurprised to find no one in the establishment except its owner. Business was slow during Summer and would only pick up just after the mid of Autumn. Making eye-contact, she nodded before grabbing things off of the shelf and then approaching the shopkeep.

"Don't feel like talking today, eh?"

Aurora pointedly ignored the question, putting her basket of produce on the counter.

"This is what we've harvested most recently. It's fresh and Auntie Flora says it's worth double whatever you'll offer me."  
  
"Ah, let her moan. It's not like she's right anyway."

The words were meant to lighten Aurora's obvious mood, but instead she seemed only more on edge. Frowning, the man leaned against the wall behind him. Diaval, who believed that staying quiet was most of the reason why his family had been forced to leave Ireland and had lived and died in squalor, had a history in forcing Aurora to speak out when she was so clearly distraught and was already setting his teeth with every deflection he sent her way. She had brushed off every question and attempt at conversation. It was unlike her to be so prudish with the details of her problems when it was clear she needed to talk about them. After their continued shared silence, she went back to browsing the aisles of his wares, picking up certain jars and dropping others. His eyes followed her around the store and every moment she came close to opening up and telling him her problems, her mouth would shut and her eyes would close and she looked as though she suffered at the very thought of speaking.  
  
Finally, she brought everything to the counter and Diaval began the unhappy task of counting out her dues. Once he finished and had begun getting the receipt ready, she worked on putting everything into her large basket and saddlebags. It was as she was putting the last of the salted meat into a wrap that Diaval’s hand caught hers. She turned swiftly, protectively tucking her gloved digits against her breast, and glared at him.  
  
“Who do you think you are? Pawin’ at me like that! Don’t you got no manners?”  
  
The shopkeep braced his arms on the counter, leaning forward to catch her eyes, “You haven’t been sleepin’.”  
  
Irritated, the girl huffed, “What if I haven’t? Ain’t your business is it?”  
  
Propping his chin on his palm, the man gave her a smirk, “Bad dreams too, huh?”  
  
Aurora felt her eyes begin to water and she sat herself on the stool that was against the wall. She turned in her seat, dropping the basket at her feet and rested her arms and head on the counter.  
  
“I ain’t slept proper in a week.”  
  
“A week,” Diaval echoed, “How’s that?”  
  
The girl sniffled from the cocoon she had made from her crossed arms, rubbing her nose against the back of one of her tan gloves, “These damn nightmares won’t let me be. It started once e’ery now ‘n then, but now it’s constant.”  
  
“What’s the dream about?”  
  
Aurora sat up, a pensive look on her face, “I-I don’t rightly know. They’re confusin’ and jumbled up.”  
  
Diaval walked to the store’s entrance, flipping the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’ in the window and drawing the curtains tightly before seating himself next to her. The young woman sighed as she wiped at her eyes and turned to face him expectantly. When neither of them spoke, Aurora blushed profusely and Diaval ran a hand through his short black hair with a sigh.  
  
“It’s just dreams, right?” Diaval asked and Aurora turned away, picking at the hem of her dress as she always did when anxious. The line was beginning to give and if she didn't fix it soon she would end up facing the wrath of Merryweather and her her sewing kit.  
  
“What do you think you’re seein’?” He tried again.  
  
“I-I don’t know. It’s…”  
  
Aurora met his gaze suddenly, an intense focused look that added a silent edge to her words, “It’s got golden eyes, and wings I think. It whispers things to me ‘n then it disappears.”  
  
Diaval was silent, his skin raising up with goose flesh and he cleared his throat before speaking again, “You’ve seen it? Seen it clearer’n person?”  
  
Blushing Aurora couldn’t help but feel silly as she spoke, her fears rapidly becoming unfounded as she explained what they stemmed from.  
  
“I, I suppose not. I dream about it. I see it so clearly like I’m seein’ it in real life, but it ain’t ever there when I look out my window. I can’t tell if I’m awake or asleep anymore. Everythin’ seems so, so…”  
  
Unable to finish the statement, Aurora picked up her things to leave, “I’m sorry, here I am yammerin’ ‘bout fairy tales and you have work to do.”  
  
Diaval, for his part, did not laugh and when Aurora made her attempt to leave, he merely held up a finger for her to wait and sprinted to the back of the store. When he returned, he held a fistful of feathers and leather which piqued the woman’s interest. Placing the objects on the table, Aurora gasped in surprise as she was able to see a large leather hoop with feathers and beads attached to it.  
  
“Is that–?”  
  
“A dream catcher.”  
  
Aurora’s eyes lit up, a smile creeping onto her lips, “I ain’t never seen one up close a’fore. Auntie Flora says they’re the devils’ work.”  
  
Diaval grinned stupidly, and pushed the item towards her, “Best not show it to her then, right?”  
  
Slowly, she picked up the decorated circle, eying the intricate weaving of string that worked through the centre and the small stones which were delicately entwined into specific loops. The strings, she noted, were dyed red and the feathers that hung along the bottom as well as the one tied into the middle of the web were unusually dark.  
  
“Got it off a merchant, he said he traded it for his daughter but his wife up ‘n left him, took the babe with ‘er. So he ended up stealing it an's had nothin' but bad luck since. Should keep your dreams safe though, provide protection or somethin’.”  
Holding up one of the leather tails, she examined the feather that was bound to it, “What sort’a bird did this come from?”  
  
“Raven? Or a crow,” Diaval answered.  
  
“More’n likely,” Aurora snorted, feeling idiotic in the face of such an obvious response. Grasping his hand she said her thanks and hugged him briefly before taking off with the dream catcher tucked beneath her arm.  
Mounting her stead, Aurora noticed Phillip was nowhere in sight and a small part of her was filled with pleasure at knowing he had abandoned her to her own devices. Still, she couldn’t quell the sudden, violent bout of fear that strangled her from within. Something very wrong was happening in her bubble of an existence and she felt powerless knowing she had no control over the chaotic spiral that was weaving its way through her life. Digging her heels into her horse’s side, she hurriedly began the ride back to her Aunties; studiously ignoring the ever-present feeling of being watched. 

* * *

 

 

Chapter Three

  
It was unbearably warm. No, it couldn’t be. Not this close to September? The frost usually began to settle across the corn crops at the beginning of August and the nights were chilly at best. How could she be so warm? Taking in her surroundings, Aurora noted the darkness first, then realised she was in her bedroom. Or was it her room? It was so hard to see and her mind felt so heavy. A fuzziness coloured her thoughts and she found it increasingly difficult to focus on much else other than the brilliant moonlight that was shining through her window.  
  
“Prettier than a picture,” she said, or perhaps thought, with awe.  
  
Approaching the moonbeams with agonizing slowness it suddenly became quite loud in the room as she heard an ocean of white noise raise in her ears. Above the noise, the flapping of wings beating violently around her became more and more prevalent. Some part of Aurora began to fill with dread. The noise, the feeling of anticipation, the strange heat to the room? It just wasn’t right, and yet she walked on.  
  
When she finally reached the sill, it felt as though a millennium had passed and she found her hands reaching forth of their own accord. She wrapped her numb digits around the shockingly cold steel of the window knobs, and yanked the panes apart, feeling a rush of cool air on her face. It was liberating and terrifying. She felt nauseous and well at once but the deafening sound of beating wings assaulted her senses and she suddenly found herself face to face with a screeching, nightmarish raven. It was larger than any she had ever seen and it reached out with its talons to claw at her face, making her scream and throw her hands up towards it. When the bird seemed to have left, she looked out, eyes traveling first to the top of the dense tree line, searching for the bird. Then she glanced towards the shrubbery where she caught sight of a figure standing before the wood. Though it was too far away to make out clear details, there was an impression of a female form, horned and tall.  
  
Though that could have been all to her appearance from such a distance, Aurora was captivated by golden eyes that seemed to light up, glowing in the darkness. They gave off so much detail in their own brilliance that Aurora was no longer certain if she was awake, dreaming, or even both.  
  
“This, this ain’t possible.” Aurora whispered.  
  
The creature beckoned to her, gesturing with a finger for Aurora to approach and she felt tears dripping down her cheeks from fear and an overwhelming sadness she could not explain. When the girl finally managed to tear her eyes away from what she was seeing, she heard laughter in her ear and a woman’s voice whispering. The words were in English and Aurora could hear everything clearly but with such chaos in her own mind, it was like a foreign language. She did not understand what she was being told and, instead of trying to make some sense of the words, she covered her head with her arms. Dropping down into a curled up position, she pulled her knees against her chest and wedged her entire body between the window and side of her bed.  
  
“I don’t wanna die,” she sobbed. The tears were making her feel sick with how hotly they burned across her skin.  
  
Hands grabbed at her shoulders, shaking her, trying to pull her up from the ground and she screamed, kicking at her attackers.  
  
“No, no! I ain’t gonna die! You ain’t never gonna take my soul!”  
  
The hands grabbed more roughly, no longer pulling but shaking her, trying to force her attention and she suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Weakly she struggled once more but then suddenly lost the will to fight as the voices of her Aunties cut through her muddled thoughts.  
  
“You ain’t dying, girl, wake up!”  
  
“Gave us a scare, you did, young Aurora.”  
  
“I never thought I’d see such a thing.”  
  
Each voice distinguished itself and Aurora rushed into the arms of the nearest woman, grateful to at last be in the presence of those who had always kept her safe. Soft fingers pet at her face and hair, and she felt Flora’s hand settle between her shoulder blades, rubbing soothing circles over her spine and tensed muscles.  
  
“Awake now, are you?”  
  
Unable to find her voice she merely nodded and continued to cry.  
  
The women didn’t trouble her further on the matter, merely easing her into her bed and covering her with blankets while closing the opened window. When they retreated she saw the back of her eyelids darken with the lantern’s departure and she wondered if she would sleep peacefully until morning.

Come morning she wasted no time in heading down to Fauna's garden. It was still nearly dark out but she knew that she wouldn't get any more sleep with how restless she was. Dropping to her knees, she began to dig through the earth, yanking weeds and letting her mind wander. She tried to think of what she had been told in the dream before, the words still unclear even as she knew she heard and understood them. 

"Maybe it didn' happen at all," she mumbled to herself, trying to find some form of justification for the previous night's oddness.  
  
The fact that her Aunties had said nothing on the matter of the dream catcher had made the evening all the more unsettling and she felt herself distractedly begin to uncover another root in the dirt. It was only when the shape became more circular that Aurora focused on the object in her hand. It was not a root; that much was certain, but the familiarity of the shape disturbed her and when her finger ran over a strip of leather that descended from the hoop, she realised why.  
Aurora ran towards the house in a sprint, not caring for the mud on her slippers that she dragged across the porch and onto the carpet. She took the stairs two at a time, slipping on the last step and still pushing on like a madwoman, without a care to the cut on her chin. When she stumbled into her bedroom, she looked immediately to the wall where the dreamcatcher had been hung. When she found it missing, she began to cry.  
  
Fat tears slipped down her cheeks and Aurora sank to her knees as the words that had been whispered in her ear the night before, became clear.  
  
_“This curse shall last till the end of time, no power on earth can change it.”_

 

* * *

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

The dreamcatcher had been burned, in a spur of insanity, she had tossed the artefact into the fire and whispered beneath her breath, “heathen witchcraft” as if channelling her Auntie Flora. Unable to do much else, she began to clean off the mud from the carpet, hoping that no stains would set but knowing that she would not be so lucky. As if to challenge the thought, Fauna appeared on the stairwell, descending slowly as she took in Aurora's hunched form. The woman’s mouth tightened and she pulled her lips inward as if attempting to swallow them and whatever words she wanted to say. Shaking her head, she began to help Aurora clean up the mess, pressing into the carpet with a wet rag and wringing out the ends that had been dipped in water.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Fauna began tentatively, her brows raised in the most sympathetic manner Aurora had ever seen. And despite the fact that Aurora most certainly did not want to speak of her nightmare, she knew it would be better to have Fauna on her side once she eventually took to explaining things to Flora and Merryweather. It was near lunch time when they parted ways, Fauna sent her to her room, telling her to rest and Aurora, gratefully, did. She slept until she heard Merryweather shouting that dinner was being served and she trudged down the stairs, looking a mess. None of the women said anything over her unkempt appearance but the moment that Aurora yawned, Fauna's hand reached out to cover Aurora's own. Fingers skittering nervously back to her lap almost as soon as she had done so, Fauna spoke quietly.

“Are the dreams bothering you?”  
  
“Dreams?” Flora echoed.  
  
“What dreams?” Asked Merryweather  
  
Aurora winced, clasping her hands together at her knees beneath the table as if in prayer and for a moment, she thought of God and wondered if perhaps He was laughing at her too. This must be punishment, she thought, and very suddenly she couldn’t stand to be stared at by Fauna’s doe-eyed innocence and pinned down by Flora and Merryweather’s narrow view.  
  
“I’ve been havin’ night terrors,” she answered.  
  
“Go on, then,” Merryweather urged impatiently.  
  
“Been seein’ birds and a creature that wants somethin’. I think it wants my soul.”  
  
Fauna didn’t make a sound, but she glanced towards the window as if envisioning escape from whatever surreal dream they were stuck in. Flora began to shout out verses from the Bible, blessing the house while Merryweather bowed her head in prayer and made unintelligible grumbling sounds with the word “sin” thrown in after every other word.  
  
The reaction was far less extreme than what Aurora anticipated and she was grateful her Aunties had deigned to leave her untouched by Holy Water and unexercised from demons. With the waking world and her strange dreams bleeding into one another, she was beginning to think she was under evil influence. Certainly her mood swings and rebellious nature had been raising flags with enough people for it to be mentioned, and Fauna had, in her own timid way, mentioned the aggressive displays about the homestead. Now Aurora was terrified. She didn’t want to sleep and she certainly didn’t want to be awake.  
  
A childlike urge to sleep in the old biddies’ overly large, shared bed came to mind, but the desire quelled itself instantly. She was no more at home with those who had raised her as she was in her own skin.  
What was the world coming to?  
  
“And though he is a merciful God, he shall smite the wicked and the sinners shall burn in eternal hellfire,” Flora shouted at the rafters.  
  
Without another word, the girl left the table and walked to her room. Even lying down in her bed, she could still faintly hear the woman shouting from downstairs and when she closed her eyes the world seemed to twist and bend in on itself within shadows of nothingness behind her eyelids.  
  
The shadows that followed her into her mind were outlined with sparks of non-light that reshaped themselves into the outlines of winged visions. Before Aurora could completely succumb to her own exhaustion, Flora’s voice seemed to echo all around her as if the woman was speaking right before her bed. The words were strange to her, though. Why would Flora shout such things, Aurora wondered, and her consciousness was lost.  
  
_“You may eat any bird but the eagle, vulture, or raven.”_  
  
When morning came, the three women were already hovering around the foot of the stairwell, waiting for Aurora’s arrival. They served her breakfast and were overly cheerful and after only a few minutes of their doting behaviour Aurora glared at them all in turn. They seemed guilty, of what she did not know, but it was there. Merryweather, who had never finished a birthday gift on time, had already wrapped her gift in brightly painted paper and twine. Flora, who always started the day with some sort of quote from the Bible or a list of chores and reminders for the youth, was unnaturally silent. Flora, who always seemed ready to jump out of her skin at any given moment, was calm.  
  
“What’s goin’ on?”  
  
Aurora made eye contact with Flora, daring the woman to correct her on her dialect and annunciation. The woman would not meet her eyes and that made the girl even angrier.  
  
“Why can’t ya’ll be honest with me? What’s happenin’ that I can’t know about?”  
  
“Just take it easy for today, dear,” Fauna offered kindly.  
  
Merryweather nodded, “Rest up, last night was tryin’.”  
  
They answered no questions and ushered her upstairs when she was finished eating. Lying in bed, she watched the slow shift of light from one side of the room to another and began to doze lightly. Falling in and out of sleep, she knew the day was slipping away, but there was nothing for it. She knew there was no convincing her Aunties to let her out and the flowers in the field had begun to die with the end of autumn approaching. She missed the green of summer and spring and the heat of the sun on her exposed skin. It would only be a few months before she would be able to ride through the plain again, but she felt a sickening sense of finality. It was as if she was seeing for the first time that there would be no more lazy summer afternoons. No more bronze and gold wheat waving at her from the fields when she would be stuck indoors. No more gleaming apples to be picked and shared with her mount. No more broken conversations with the Wiyot people and the Wiyot boys that roamed the valley in search of good hunt.  
  
Gazing into the boughs of the large trees outside the homestead, she began to feel as though she was being watched. In an attempt to ignore the unsettling notion, she decided to busy herself with fixing the hem of her dress and wandered towards the door. When Aurora managed to open it and step quietly out into the hallway, she realised how deathly silent the house was. Flora, who would have normally spent the time shouting about God or lecturing Merryweather over something the plump women would later lecture Fauna on, was absent. The sound of cookware being used was gone. Nothing, Aurora thought, there was no sound. Just like her dreams.  
  
The knowledge that her dreams of late had started out as metaphors and ended in her room was not lost on the girl and she tiptoed her way down the stairwell towards the dining room where the three women would often retire to speak on important matters she would never be privy to. The gradual increase of sound, muffled voices and the shuffling of clothing was the only indicator that the house was not empty. Pressing herself up against the wall, she stepped quietly towards the doorway and then held herself as still as possible, listening to their hushed words.  
  
"The curse is upon us!" Merryweather's voice was the first to be heard.  
  
"We do not know that," Flora hissed.  
  
"How d'you figure-"  
  
Merryweather's words were cut off by Fauna's soft interruption, "She's having the dreams and she's of age."  
  
"All children can be emotional at times," Flora huffed, "How can we claim that this time is any different?"  
  
"But, the dreams..."  
  
Ignoring Fauna, Flora continued, "Dreams happen often, to everyone. It is most likely coincidental."  
  
Merryweather's tone shot back, suddenly wary, "I suppose she could'a seen somthin'. Saw 'n animal die an' she's jus' correlatin'."  
  
"Exactly," Flora replied, her tone smug.  
  
"Still, if'n her dreams are that specific, she's seein' the dark spirit. Her daddy's wicked ways is catchin' up at last."  
  
Flora groaned, "As you said, she most likely had an incident in the valley. It is all coincidental. The curse is not happening. Will not happen!"  
  
Aurora's heart quickened, her thoughts racing. They knew something and they weren't telling her anything about it. Her eyes pricked with tears and a terrible pain had cropped up in the back of her skull. The pain became searing and the sound of thousands of wings flapping sounded in her ears until they were unison: one large set of wings pounding against the winds that whipped over the plains. Wings coming for her. Letting out a cry, Aurora grabbed her head, placing her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sounds that were threatening to make her deaf.  
  
Like deja vu, her Aunties were at her side, grabbing her up off the floor, pulling her into a hug, petting her hair and whispering niceties. This time, however, she would not be lulled.  
  
Attempting to yank herself away from them, she screamed again, this time in outrage.  
  
"You've been lyin' to me all along!"  
  
They held her arms, trying to keep her from peeling out of the house into the waiting darkness.  
  
“’Rora, don’t do this, don’t run!” Merryweather’s voice was hoarse and desperate.  
  
“Please,” Fauna begged and Flora’s face was red with unshed tears as she silently held on to the girl’s hand.  
  
“I can’t trust you, not any of you,” Aurora screamed at them, “Let me go!”  
  
Reluctantly, Fauna and Merryweather released their grip but Flora only held on tighter.  
  
“Please, my darling, don’t leave us,” she whispered, and her other hand reached out to gently move away the hair that had stuck to the girl’s face.  
  
“What am I leavin’? You’re not my family an’ you don’t love me. Real family would’a been honest, would’a been true.”  
  
Flora released her hand as if burned and Aurora ached at the loss before drawing herself up to her full height. She was only slightly taller than Merryweather but still shorter than the other two women. She knew she did not look intimidating or particularly impressive, but she felt more empowered than she ever had. Turning, she fled to the stables, taking her stead and mounting quickly before riding towards Salms. Her horse whined pitifully, rushing to comply with her demands, but the stubbornness of the beast won over and with her feet still kicking at its sides, she found herself suddenly holding to the reins as the steed bucked in resistance. 

The first time it leapt was tolerable, but the second it jerked again, kicking back and wrenching control from Aurora's hands, she found herself flying and hitting the ground hard. Stars exploding behind her eyes, she could hear the cry of the horse as it began to run back towards the ranch. Outrage swirled in her gut, but the lights of Salms' drinking saloon was not far off and Aurora stood slowly. Resigning herself to the closer distance, she quietly noted that she probably would have chosen to walk to Salms even if she had been thrown from her saddle ten feet from her front door.  
  


It was more surprising for Aurora than Diaval, it seemed, that she found herself on his doorstep asking for sanctuary. The shopkeeper wasted no time in opening the locks and leading her inside to his fireplace. He proved a gracious host, offering her refreshments and giving her fresh clothing to change into at her leisure. Once they sat down to talk, she told him everything she had heard, everything that had happened since she last saw him. Blushing profusely at her moment of stupidity for destroying the dreamcatcher under such superstitious notions.

"What should I do, Diaval?" Aurora asked, eyes filled with tears.

“You could confront it,” he suggested, “ask it how to atone. If it wanted to, it could probably have already grabbed you. If you dare, perhaps try to speak to it in your dreams when it next comes for you”

A few tears slid to the edge of her eyes but she did not let them fall. Aurora was grateful for such a kind friend and told him so.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Aurora nodded gratefully, “More’n anythin’. I don’t ever wanna go back to that old house.”

Diaval smiled wryly, “You don’t have to,” he offered as he led her to the second floor of his shop where his and the guest bedroom lay. 

Pointing out her room, she nodded thankfully and closed the door before stripping out of her ruined dress.

Lying underneath the sheets she listened to the sounds of the saloon through the partially cracked window. She could hear the sound of men laughing, the faint pop of a pistol going off and cheers following. The sound of horses galloping down the centre of town quieted the howls but only temporarily, the Sheriff would not be showing his face in the saloon, not with the men acting so rowdy.

Listening to the rise and fall of the bar patron’s joined voices, she singled out the sound of women’s laughter and knew that one of those women was Susanna. Turning her head marginally, she looked through the partially opened drapes towards the source of sound and saw she could see the entire front of the saloon from her position. It was almost advantageous and she was pleasantly surprised to see a woman that looked like Susanna lounging on the upper floor railing, her knee hooked overtop of it as she cupped her breasts and ran her hands along her sides to entice a man looking at her from the street.

It took little time for him to climb the stairs and once he was beside her, he was whispering in her ear, making the woman laugh.

Though it was hard to make out, Aurora became captivated by the sight of his hand rubbing along her arm. She turned herself around so that her back was to the railing and they were face to face. The man stepped forward as the whore’s hand wandered lower, rubbing against his crotch and reaching into his pants to stroke him. From their angle, no one else would be able to see them and Aurora felt ashamed of herself for watching. Then the woman turned back to look at the street, waving him away. When his hand moved over the front of her body, however, it became apparent that there would be no stopping his interest now that they had both shared their desires. 

A heat grew between Aurora's legs then, making her slide her fingers along her lower lips. She was surprised to find herself wet but let her courage carry her onwards as she slid a finger inside of herself. Her eyes returned to the scene before and she moaned softly to see his hand rubbing her through the prostitute's clothes. Not-Susanna’s eyes fluttered and her legs spread apart enticingly, trying to get more despite the barrier. 

Whispering something, they both looked around and Aurora noticed it as well. The two were alone on the balcony and there was no one on the street. Moving quickly, he yanked down her panties and opened his trousers, pulling out his hardened cock and quickly entering her body. One of his hands leapt up to her mouth, quieting her from making sound and his hips jerked hard and fast into her body. The woman leaned over the railing as he slammed his hips against hers. One of her hands was gripping the wooden barrier to keep herself from falling over and the other held his hand over her mouth.

Freeing herself of her blankets, Aurora pulled her underclothes off of her body and threw them to the floor, lying on her back with her head turned to watch the obscene display. Her knees bent she shoved her finger into herself up to the knuckle, curling it occasionally in an attempt to bring herself closer towards the blinding heat of pleasure that was consuming her. With her other hand harshly massaging one of her hardened nipples, she let out a cry of pleasure and spread her legs wider in an attempt to penetrate herself more deeply.

The heat of a tongue on her untouched nipple made her buck and cry. Susanna was so perfect and so good, and her mouth felt so hot on her breast as it suckled harshly before catching the hardened nub gently between sharp teeth.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” she cried out and the suckling on her nipple increased making her sob as she finger-fucked herself harshly.

When she felt a gentle hand pull her own away from her crotch she gave out a strangled moan but the feeling of that same hot tongue against her sex made her sing.

Daring a glance, she looked between her legs and saw not brown hair but long black locks that were parted by two strange protrusions that Aurora could find no other proper word to describe them as except horns. The erotic sight made her breath stop in her throat and her partner noticed the sudden halt in enthusiasm. The head raising, Aurora breathed out shakily as she looked into face with no features with the exception of two pointed ears that were pierced with gold chains, linking up with silver rings that adorned the long, twisted horns. 

Aurora wanted to scream or cry or making any sound at all but she was transfixed as the faceless creature moved closer. Warm breath tickled Aurora’s ear and she heard words echoed with laughter and the beating of a thousand wings and a woman’s voice, cool as river water. 

_“This curse shall last till the end of time, no power on earth can change it.”_

 

* * *

 

Chapter Five

 

When dawn broke, Aurora woke with certainty. She knew what needed to be done. There was no escaping her fate and no matter how far she ran, she would always be just out of reach of this strange, vengeful spirit unless she attempted to make amends. Packing her things, she went down to the shop, only to find a note from Diaval stating he would be back later. She couldn't wait. Writing on the back of the slip, she left her farewells and that she would see him soon, leaving the parchment exactly where she found it.

The walk home was gratifying in its length. She thought of her friends, of her Aunties, and of things she loved. She tried to block out the negativity, thinking only of positive forces in her life, of things that made her happy. It had been a while since she had felt happy. By the time she had finished mentally listing some of her prefered meals made by each Aunt, she was standing before the house and it was a little before sunset. Her Aunties were outside, Merryweather sewing on the porch, Fauna in her garden, and Flora at the end of the road, looking out across the plains. Looking for her.

As soon as she was in sight, the women waved and called to her and when she found herself enveloped in their arms, she couldn't help but feel their love. The night they spent together was the best she'd had in years. They laughed and told stories, played games, ate a splendid meal and even had chocolate that was being saved for Christmas. It was a treat. They were celebrating Aurora and her life, their lives together and Aurora soaked in their comforting presence. There were things she loved and hated about each one of them, but these were faults she had to accept. She didn't need to like Flora's abrasive manner, or Merryweather's empathy, or Fauna's dainty manner, but she accepted that these were parts of her Aunties. Parts of people she loved. Taking in who they were, what they were to her, she smiled. The night had to end though and when it did, she felt like she was climbing stairs not to her room, but to her final resting place. Each woman kissed and held her in turn, wishing her a happy birthday and only the sweetest of dreams. Concern etched their faces but they still carried on as though it were an invisible facet to their masks.

When Aurora climbed into bed, she tried to smile, to embrace the love of those in her life and use it as her guiding strength.

The dream was expected, though it began just as it always had. Terrifying sounds surrounding her senses as she tried to escape from wherever she was been trapped at the time. She thought she might be inside a shoe of some sort, but the metaphor was lost as she began to acknowledge the beginning of the whispers and the Voice. She didn't dare lie to herself and pretend braveness for fear of something more horrifying lying within her subconscious, but quite suddenly she no longer felt fear. She was there, aware in her dreams and mind and she felt herself able to speak at last, instead of only screaming.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, and the ocean of noise receded some.

The laughing and whispers had stopped but the rush of wings prevailed.

"I'm sorry," she repeated more firmly, "I want to make things right, because my father won't."

It became totally silent then and Aurora wondered if she might be alone, but she felt herself instead waking and heard once more the scratching at her window that meant the birds were there. She approached and found the raven she had seen before, sitting on the ledge of her window and staring into the room with intelligent eyes. The large bird screeched once before pulling back after a moment to circle with the other crows that flew above the tree line. As it forced itself to fly faster than its gliding kin, Aurora began to feel hypnotised at the sight of the ghastly thing. After a long moment she looked down towards the line of thickets as she had grown accustomed to in the last week and she was unsurprised to see the being there. A gaunt shape with horns and spread wings stared at her from between the youngest, thinnest trees and Aurora was captivated by the golden eyes that seemed to be glowing. Aurora thought she might follow those eyes, letting them illuminate her way through the wood like lanterns.

The Voice whispered in her ear once more, telling her it was "time" and she rose from her hunched position at the window, beginning her descent down the stairs towards Fauna's garden. 

And, the Voice said, beyond.

A thick fog seemed to hang on the trees and it crawled around her feet, leaving a hazy blanket of white. The ground was hard and thick with cold and the coming frost and everything was eerily still at the edge of the forest. The Voice and its owner were nowhere to be seen and no life rustled amongst the waxy leaves that lay ahead of her. The crows that always seemed to circle at the entrance to the thicket were absent and silent, Aurora stood transfixed. She was waiting in a trance-like state for some sort of sign to press on. She did not blink and her heart did not beat erratically against her delicate ribcage. It was as if she was possessed and perhaps, in that moment, she was. 

Then, without a single word, she vanished. She walked into the woods with purpose, and it seemed as though the world had seized a collective breath in anticipation, releasing it once she disappeared amongst the brambles. Crows suddenly rose up and out of the tree tops with activity, cawing throatily at the old house. Owls and other fowl began stirring up from the branches to glide around the weeping trees, trying to catch a stray meal before the black feathered birds descended on Fauna’s garden. The sun rose then, along with it the three sisters who could find no trace of their young charge. 

Fauna was the first to look towards the forest and into their shadows, a hand coming up to cover her mouth in surprise.

“You don’t think–?”

Neither of the women responded to the unfinished question. There was nothing to answer.


End file.
